by David Field
‘That Sergeant Brennan is far too keen to let me see the inside of that little club of his. I think it could be some sort of trap.’
‘You may be right, but it’s also a golden opportunity to get a closer look inside what Melville believes to be a hotbed of corruption involving both soldiers and police officers. Even if “they” know what we’re really up to in Bow Street, their intention towards you may well be to corrupt you in order to find out how much we know.’
‘And if they suspect that we know too much, won’t they try to do away with me?’
‘So we pass up this gift horse because it’s too dangerous, is that what you’re saying, Jack? Didn’t you face danger every day when you patrolled the dark alleyways of the East End? Wasn’t everyone you arrested someone who potentially wanted to do away with you? Have you gone soft over the years?’
‘That’s unfair!’ Jack protested. ‘In those days I didn’t have a wife and children to think about. I’m not scared for myself, but if anything were to happen to me…’
‘It won’t,’ Percy assured him. ‘For as long as they think they can get information out of you, you’ll be safe. You have to play a double game, that’s all.’
‘If you say so. But in the meantime, you sit safe and secure inside Bow Street?’
‘I’ll be in Bow Street most of the time, certainly.’
‘And what about the rest of the time?’
‘On Thursday I have to turn myself into a sightseer and explore Westminster Abbey in order to meet up with Melville’s messenger. Hopefully by then I’ll be able to advise him what we’ve learned about this club that seems to be the centre of the action.’
‘And what will you be able to tell him about your enquiries? Or is it all down to me?’
‘I need to find out if Markwell and his cronies know anything about the proposed route for the Jubilee procession, and if so what arrangements they’re making to police it. If I can match their proposed allocation of men to those with dubious backgrounds, then we can get Melville’s ferrets to keep a close watch on them, and who they associate with. You can help with that by finding out the identities of those Met officers who’re regular members of this club.’
‘I take it you suspect Markwell?’
‘Wouldn’t you? He fits the picture perfectly — ex military, in a position of authority in Bow Street, and clearly not happy at the way the British Empire’s being run. What about your Sergeant Brennan?’
‘Again, a bit too obvious if anything. Even his name’s Irish, and he makes no attempt to hide an accent that suggests that he’s not long off the boat. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he has a special skill in planting explosives.’
‘You may be right about him being a little too obvious,’ Percy replied thoughtfully. ‘He might just be a decoy, to throw us off the scent of those who’re really calling the shots. Anyway, that’ll be for you to decide, since you’re clearly going to be working with him.’
‘If I go ahead and risk my neck in this club of his, can I have Friday off?’ Jack said hopefully. ‘I thought I’d go back to Barking on a morning train and call in to see Mother on my way home. I mentioned that she’s had a mild heart attack that she’s writing off as indigestion, but I want to look in on her and make sure that she’s recovering well, and not misbehaving and ignoring the doctor’s orders. Also, if I call in on her, it may prevent her waddling up to our house during the weekend.’
Percy thought for a moment, then smiled. ‘I’ll do you a deal, then. You get yourself inside this club of Brennan’s, report back all you see and hear, and then you can leave for home on the Friday morning train.’
‘You must be bored out of your mind, staring at all that paper,’ Liam Brennan commented as he placed the mug of tea down on Jack’s desk. ‘It was two sugars, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ Jack replied in imitation of a man whose mind was distracted by what he was reading. ‘From what I can see here,’ he continued, ‘we’re not likely to be making any serious recommendations for additional manpower. You must be the best manned station in the Met; there hasn’t been a resignation or a transfer since May, and now it’s November.’
‘It’s a popular billet, right enough,’ Brennan confirmed. ‘We don’t get many hardened criminal types up this west end of town, and most of our work consists of keeping a watchful eye on sightseers. Then of course we get the big ceremonials to police, when we get to parade in our best uniforms, alongside our army mates, while the Queen, or the Prime Minister, show their faces to the mob. The best duty of all’s outside the gates of Buck House when the Queen happens to grace London with a visit, usually for the State Opening of Parliament. All the girls cheer us on, and occasionally one of them will give us a kiss or pass us a sandwich or a cup of tea.’
‘Very different from life up the sharp end, down in Wapping or Whitechapel,’ Jack agreed. ‘You must be one big happy family.’
‘And so we are. Have you given any more thought to popping along to our club one evening?’
‘Why not?’ Jack smiled with fake enthusiasm. ‘It’s a bit boring in the evenings, with only my uncle and aunt for company. I miss my wife and kids too, so an evening’s distraction would be very welcome. What’s your club called, and where exactly is it?’
‘It’s called “The Home Front Club”, and we obviously took that name from what soldiers call England while they’re fighting abroad to support the Queen’s lost causes. On long hot nights, while we were waiting for Abdul to come at us again, a group of us dreamed of being back on what we took to calling the “Home Front”, and promised ourselves that if we survived to go home, we’d start a club to remember our comrades in arms who’d given their lives so that Her Majesty could hang a few more camel skins on her Palace walls.’
‘You sound very bitter,’ Jack observed diplomatically as Brennan’s eyes blazed fervently at the far wall.
‘Sorry, Jack, it just gets to me sometimes. All those good men lost — and for what?’
‘I can sympathise, in my own small way,’ Jack lied. ‘Every time I had to tell a woman with a roomful of kids that her breadwinner in uniform had been knifed to death and thrown into the nearby canal, I used to ask myself if it was all worth it. It certainly taught me what matters most in life.’
‘You have a problem with the way the country’s being run?’ Brennan asked eagerly, and Jack saw his chance.
‘I certainly agree with you that it’s time that the politicians were forced to go and look at real dead bodies or explain to distraught and desperate widows how their policies have taken their life and happiness from them.’
‘Some people might call you a revolutionary,’ Brennan suggested, and Jack allowed himself a wry smile.
‘I don’t know about that, but there’s a lot about our country that I’d like to see changed.’
‘You’ll find a lot of people with similar views in the Home Front Club,’ Brennan assured him. ‘I’m off duty at two today, so I’ll pick you up here at six, if that’s convenient.’
‘I have reason to believe that the celebrations will be spread over two days,’ Markwell advised Percy as they sat sharing a pot of tea in the former’s spacious office on the third floor. ‘The first day will be marked by a service in the Royal Chapel at Windsor, then she’ll come into town by the western route, arriving at Buckingham Palace in time for a State Banquet worth a Queen’s ransom, and attended by all her hangers-on from around the world.’
‘And you’ll have all your men on duty around the Palace and its immediate surrounds?’ Percy asked with raised eyebrows. ‘If so, then they’ll be pretty stuffed by the second day to which you referred. What happens then?’
‘Pretty traditional stuff which we’ve handled without difficulty before,’ Markwell assured him. ‘A full open carriage turn-out, through Trafalgar Square, then down through Whitehall onto the Embankment, and “all stations” to St Paul’s for the Thanksgiving Service. The main worry will be dumped onto the poor buggers in t
he East End, since we’re informed that the old dear can’t walk up the steps anymore and will remain in her carriage while the Archbishop does his bit from the steps themselves. Makes her a sitting duck for any loony with a gun or a bomb, but some idiot in Special Branch appears to have given the go ahead.’
‘You got this from Special Branch themselves?’ Percy said as casually as he was able, and Markwell nodded.
‘Friends in high places, let’s say. But clearly we had to be informed as early as possible.’
‘It would seem that we’re concentrating on the wrong end of town, if your information’s correct,’ Percy muttered. ‘The real risk will be outside St Paul’s, and that involves just about every police division in the East End.’
‘I sincerely hope that you won’t recommend drafting any of my men over there,’ Markwell frowned. ‘We’ll be at full stretch covering two days of sweaty mobs lining the streets and craning their necks to get a glimpse of Her Royal Hugeness.’
‘Rest assured,’ Percy replied. ‘From what I can tell, you have a very loyal contingent at your command here, and I wouldn’t want to disrupt that in any way. But I must look again at the East End, since whichever crackpot organised these Diamond Jubilee arrangements clearly didn’t know his arse from his elbow when it came to matters of security. As usual, the boys in blue will have to save the day.’
‘I won’t mention the unauthorised use of a police wagon,’ Jack grinned as the driver flicked the reins and the horse set off at an even pace in the general direction of Green Park.
‘It’s actually authorised,’ Brennan smiled back from the opposite seat. ‘We’re allowed to use the wagon whenever we want to visit the club immediately after work.’
‘Chief Inspector Markham must be a very generous boss,’ Jack observed as he made a mental note that they were turning left into St James’s Street.
‘He’s also the Treasurer of the club.’
‘Where exactly is the club located?’ Jack watched the carriages coming and going down the wide and luxurious thoroughfare.
‘Dead ahead, half a mile or so,’ Brennan advised him. ‘Number Twenty, St James’s Square Gardens. A fine set of rooms on the ground floor, with a couple of actresses resident with their “gentlemen admirers” on the upper floors. They’re usually out in the evenings, giving their all up the West End somewhere, so they don’t mind the racket we make on some nights. But tonight’s Tuesday, so it should be fairly quiet in there.’
It certainly seemed quiet enough as Brennan led Jack down the heavily carpeted hallway into what was presumably the main lounge. A few couples in casual dress sat drinking at tables, while a solitary pianist tinkled out popular melodies from the music halls as Brennan led the way to the bar and indicated for Jack to take a seat alongside him.
‘I’ll take a guess that you’re a beer man?’ he said, and when Jack nodded Brennan turned to the barman in his smart white jacket. ‘A glass of beer for my friend here, and a double drop of the crater for me — on ice, but no water.’
The barman handed over Jack’s foaming tankard, along with the large whisky that he’d poured from an Irish malt bottle, and Brennan smiled as he gestured lightly with his hand at the early evening scene before them.
‘It’ll liven up a bit later on, when the dancing starts, and the single ladies come in. One of the attractions of this place, and if your eye comes to rest on one whose beauty appeals to you, just let me know and I’ll effect the introductions. A few drinks and you should then be well on your way to a memorable evening.’
‘One of the attractions?’
Brennan nodded. ‘As you’ll be aware, we’re supposed to wear our uniforms even when off duty and can be heavily disciplined if we don’t. It’s the same for the soldiers, and for all of us one of the real attractions of this place is that we can get out of those scratchy trousers and into something more comfortable. Another attraction is the card game that starts in the next room after nine o’clock, and sometimes goes on all night. No limit on the stakes, and very often some of the ladies drift in to watch and are very attentive towards anyone who wins a pile, if you get my meaning. Anyway, relax and take a good look round, since there’s a lady over there who’s beckoning for my attention. If you want a meal, you can order at the bar, and it’ll be served in the dining room to the left of the front door.’
He wandered off, and Jack allowed his eyes to roam the half empty room. The few men in attendance were dressed fashionably in civilian clothes, so it was difficult to tell whether they were soldiers or police officers, but they all had the same look about them — the airy confidence that comes with being over six feet tall and trained for dealing with assailants. As for the women who were sharing carafes of wine with them, no doubt some of them were prostitutes carefully vetted for the occasion, but none of them looked as if they were.
His eye lit upon one woman in particular, who stood out because of her lustrous jet-black shiny hair and the penetrating blue eyes that glittered even across the few feet between them. When Brennan returned Jack made appreciative noises and enquired about membership.
‘You have to be proposed and seconded by existing members,’ Brennan told him, ‘but before that happens you have to answer a few questions regarding your loyalty to the Queen.’
Or lack of it, Jack conjectured mentally.
‘You’re the only member I know so far,’ Jack objected, and Brennan smiled.
‘After a few visits here you’ll get to know more, and by then we’ll have a pretty good idea of whether or not you’re membership material. Anyway, I have to go now, since I have to be back on duty shortly after five tomorrow morning. I can give you a ride back to Bow Street if that’s convenient for you.’
Percy was waiting up as Jack let himself in quietly shortly after eleven, after the late evening bus ride across the city and past his former residence in Clerkenwell, provoking further reminders that he’d rather be home in Barking with Esther and the children. Percy beckoned Jack into the sitting room with an obvious expression of relief and enquired as to how his evening had gone. Jack smiled.
‘One of the most salubrious establishments I’ve ever had the pleasure of attending. A very smart sort of club located in a very wealthy part of the West End. If it’s financed solely by membership subscriptions, then clearly I’m in the wrong half of our profession, but I got the distinct feeling that someone is putting money behind it in order to attract bobbies and soldiers, then either blackmail them or get them into so much debt at the card table that they’ll do what they’re told.’
‘Blackmail them on what grounds?’
‘If you could have cast your eyes over some of the high-class whores in there, you wouldn’t need to ask. For a working copper, or a non-commissioned grunt in a Guards regiment, they’d be irresistible.’
‘And for a police sergeant with a wife and four children?’ Percy said with a mischievous grin, and Jack’s smile disappeared.
‘Forget it. I’m considering applying for membership, but if someone’s required to investigate the whorehouse benefits of membership, you’ll need someone else. So how was your working day?’
Percy grimaced. ‘Somehow or other, Markwell seems to have got hold of the detailed plans for the Jubilee procession. That’s a big enough worry, but the real headache is that the Queen will be sitting stationary, fully exposed in an open carriage, at the foot of the steps of St Paul’s while the Archbishop conducts the service in the open air. If what Markwell says is true, then the sooner we get back into the East End and make sure that everything’s in order, the better. I’ll need to ask to speak directly with Melville when I meet with his messenger on Thursday.’
‘Can I still have Friday off?’
Percy nodded. ‘But don’t count on being able to visit your mother every Friday from now on, because I have a sneaking suspicion that, like that story I used to read to you about the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dike, we’re going to be required to plug quite a few holes in securi
ty in coming months.’
Chapter Twelve
Percy took the seat at the very end of the pew in Westminster Abbey that lay directly across the aisle from the baptismal font, then sat patiently awaiting the man who was his only line of communication with William Melville. All around him he could hear muted conversations between sightseers in different languages, together with the rustling of guide books to this ancient citadel of God that had witnessed so much British history. Up ahead, in the choir stalls, a group of far from reverend young boys dressed in grubby surplices tussled and competed for the best seats ahead of their daily practice under the wavering baton of an elderly choirmaster who had seemingly given up the struggle to call them to order.
‘Peace be upon you, my son.’
He didn’t bother looking sideways, but from the corner of his eye he could make out a dark shape that resembled a man in clerical robes sliding into the seat across from his in the aisle, and he decided to risk it.
‘Tell your superior that someone’s got hold of the proposed procession route. Also tell him that the greatest risk will be when the lady in question sits outside St Paul’s.’
‘More detail, please.’
‘It would take too long. I need to see your boss.’
‘If you wish to speak with the organ grinder rather than his monkey, then the best place would be Tower Green, next Tuesday at two o’clock. Pax vobiscum and all that nonsense.’
The form slid out of the seat, and Percy made his way outside before the choir boys could render further violence to a wonderful chorale by Thomas Tallis. Outside in the warm winter sunlight he shook off the gloom of the interior he’d just left and hopped on a bus that took him all the way down to Stepney, where he knew that he could probably count on a reasonable reception.
